


First Captain

by Sister of Silence (Orcbait)



Series: Ars De Esse Parenti [8]
Category: Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Anal Sex, Awkward Conversations, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Humorous Ending, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-19
Updated: 2013-08-19
Packaged: 2017-12-24 01:27:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/933518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orcbait/pseuds/Sister%20of%20Silence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abaddon did not think his idea was strange, but Athyrea sure did and terminated the concept with a resounding 'No'. Irritated, Abaddon goes to do what he always does when she twarts him - train. As he tutors Ankeara in the use of a mech-bow an opportunity presents itself, one that he is not going to pass up on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Captain

**Author's Note:**

> This is a part that will likely get sorted into 'Extra Heresy' at some point. As such it is a part of Vividwings and me our Heresy Era AU 'Ars De Esse Parenti', where all the Primarchs managed to spawn a daughter, or two in the case of our spiritual liege (...). Athyrea is Horus' and Athamyra's daughter (see 'Queen Takes King'), and Ankeara is Angron's (see 'Memories of Desh'ea).
> 
> In the event you haven't read the AU, you might need this little pre-amble:
> 
> When Athyrea came of age, Horus thought it prudent to match her with someone kind and gentle, and that was of course Hastur Sejanus. Athyrea hasn't coped very well with his death, nor has Abaddon. They managed to dry their proverbial tears together despite the fact that they are not at all able to deal with one another. Ever since meeting up with the World Eaters and their new primarch and his daughter, Abaddon has also been struggling with uncomfortable pants feelings towards Ankeara. Needless to say, Athyrea is not pleased. She never liked Ankeara, and even less now.

“Oh, yes!” Athyrea cried out as Ezekyle thrust into her once more. She arched against him, her fingertips digging into the thick muscles in his neck. He grunted with effort, his thrusts long and deep – but not deep enough. He held her hips tightly, her fair skin bruising under his fingertips. As always, he tried to reach deeper, but he met resistance within her and their hips would not fully meet. He gritted his teeth and tried again and Athyrea cried out in pleasure once more.

She was close, he could tell. He could tell from the tone of her voice, from her rapid and shallow breaths, from the way she tightened around him. He groaned at the delicious pressure. It was not long at all before her release made her tremble underneath him. 

He slowed his pace and watched her as she came down from her high. Sweat drops like tiny diamonds glinted on her forehead. Her pale cheeks were flushed red with pleasure. Her lips were parted to accommodate her breath, even more rapid now than it had been before.

They were in her rooms as always, not his. His quarters were too exposed and they required her to traverse his company's deck. Not the ideal way to keep things secret.

Ezekyle leaned down towards her, her slender, naked body warm and inviting beneath his, and kissed her parted lips. “That was... two, wasn't it?” he muttered against her skin, his deep voice even throatier than usual. “2-1, for me.”

“I can't believe you are keeping track,” she replied, her voice husky. He merely grinned. She kissed his grin and bit his lower lip. He growled and bit back. One or both of them drew blood. It did not matter. “It won't be so easy next time,” she continued between their lips, her fingertips drawing lazy circles on the skin of his back. She shifted up and he slipped from within her. She knew he wanted more and the way he immediately reached for her pleased her. He sat up too and pulled her towards him, gazing down at her.

“It will be,” he promised, a rumble in his voice. “Very easy.” The briefly scandalised look that appeared in her grey eyes was almost too good to be true. The way she then narrowed her eyes and smiled sexily at him impossible to resist.

She suddenly turned and clambered away from him.

“Oh no, you won't,” he growled as he reached for her with his long arms and dragged her back by her hips. He leaned over her, trapping her underneath his broad frame. He leaned down until his chest pressed along her back and her little ass against his loin. He groaned at the feel of the soft flesh pressed snugly against him. “I'll prove it to you,” he mused as he looked at her from the corners of his eyes, his chin resting against her shoulder.

Athyrea chuckled. There was no way he could take her now, they were the wrong way around.

“You think that is funny?” he inquired, and his eyes narrowed speculatively as he pushed his hips against her rear, his gender sliding harmlessly past her. However, before she could quip an answer, he let his hand slide down the curve of her bum and pressed two fingers firmly into her.

Athyrea whimpered and pushed her hips towards his hand, leaning down onto her elbows as she hollowed her back, tilting her hips towards him. “Ezeke--” she whimpered when he just as suddenly stopped touching her.

The way in which her face broke and a cry wrenched itself from her throat when he suddenly thrust into her was extremely satisfying. A groan escaped him as his hips almost pressed against her soft rear. He could feel her work along his length as she squirmed beneath him.

“Ezekyle, stop. We can't do –. It's –,” Athyrea struggled to speak despite the pleasure blooming in the pit of her stomach. They could not do it this way, this is how beast did it! It wasn't right!

“Why not?” he asked as he leaned over her shoulder once more, pressing her down with his weight. His voice was strained and a grunt escaped him every time he bucked into her.

“It--, It's wrong,” Athyrea gasped. The long, deep strokes made it incredibly difficult to think straight.

“Then why are you moaning for more,” he inquired through gritted teeth. He leaned on his elbow, all but laying down against her as he took her. His need was quickly beginning to spiral out of his control. He increased his pace, his hips now but barely coming away from her bum as his thrusts pushed her into the bed again and again.

Athyrea moaned as her hands clawed at the fine pillows and soft pelts underneath her. Her entire body felt as if it were on fire. The deep, sharp strokes send ever stronger waves of pleasure in ever more rapid succession through her body. She could do nothing against them, and part of her did not want to do anything against them – no matter that it was wrong and unseemly. Her eyes rolled back in her head as she drowned in her pleasure and called out his name.

When she opened her eyes again, she saw him grin at her. She glanced down between them. Fluids glistened where they were joined and slowly leaked down her thighs. He was still erect, she could feel that, and though there were copious fluids, they did not have the tell-tale white colour of his release.

“I told you, it would be easy,” he drawled, sounding far too satisfied with himself. Athyrea turned around and glared at him as best she could. His grin only became wider.

“I will show you easy, you cocky bastard!” she responded as she suddenly sat up and pushed him over, onto his back. Without hesitation she climbed on top of him and straddled him. She sat down squarely onto him, his hard gender pressed up against his abdomen underneath her and her knees pressed firmly into his sides.

Slowly, she sat up on her knees and reached for the base of his length, guiding him underneath her. She smiled at the groan that escaped him as she let herself sink onto him. He immediately reached for her hips, but she slapped his hands away. She grabbed his wrists and pressed them to his chest as she started to roll her hips against his. He groaned again, his gaze fixed on hers. He did not protest. Not yet. She would have to play it right.

She shifted and leaned onto her hands, pinning his wrists. She arched her back and rocked herself up and down his length, riding him as if he were her mount instead of her man. Every grunt she urged from him felt like a victory, every groan urged her to go harder. She could almost press her hips flat against his. Almost, but not quite. Already she could feel him flex his hips up towards her. His breathing was laboured, his gaze hooded. He wanted her. Again. Still. It was written plain as day across his rough features. A pleasant shiver ran down her spine. She wanted him to want her.

Out of nowhere, he pulled his wrists free. There was nothing she could do to stop that, he was far stronger than her. He grasped her hips and thrust up against her as she came down. He groaned, she gasped, and he did it again.

She put a hand to his clenching abdominal muscles for balance, her gaze fixed on them as they flexed across his loins with every thrust. Her other hand she held up beside her, as if he were a bucking stallion to be braved. His fingers dug into her slender hips, bruising the already harassed flesh further. His breathing came in heavy bursts as he took her, his muscles straining as he pushed them on.

He did so until he couldn't take it any longer. He held her up and still by her hips and finished himself within her with several sharp, fast strokes. Pushed his straining body on until pleasure consumed him and a shuddering moan fell from his lips.

A triumphant smile unfurled itself around her lips as she felt him spill himself within her. She leaned down, the little grin playing around her lips. His breathing was heavy and his skin slick with sweat, the peculiar scent of Astartes perspiration strong to her nose. She laid down on his chest and folded her arms across the hard planes of his pectorals. “3-2,” she stated, the satisfaction more than evident in her voice.

His eyes narrowed, though a grin tugged at his lips. “For me,” he added.

“For now,” she replied.

He wrapped his arms around her and rolled them onto their sides. He leaned on an elbow and let his hand wander down the shape of her body. “We'll see...” he muttered as he took in the curve of her hip and kneaded her soft bum. His grin made it evident that he did not doubt the outcome of his own statement. “I know something else we could do...” he suggested as his hand slipped down along her bum, his voice low as he glanced up at her. The obvious lust in his gaze send a pleasant shiver of anticipation down her spine. He let his hand follow the full, soft curve of her bum until he brushed past her rear entrance. He pressed a finger against it and grunted, it felt hot and tight.

“W-what?' Athyrea stammered, taken aback by his touch. She squirmed away from his hand. “You want to – in my--? What?”

A little squeal escaped her when he pressed the tip of his finger into her, and the mewling sound send a spike of pleasure straight to his loin. His gaze hooded, blatant desire burning behind his blue eyes. “Yes.”

“That's disgusting!” Athyrea exclaimed in shocked tones as she pushed his hand away. First that unseemly position, and now this? What was wrong with him? Why couldn't they just have normal sex? 

His gaze darkened, his eyes now narrowed instead of hooded. He was observing her intently, a frown creasing his brow.

Athyrea stared at him. Why did he want to do all these undignified things to her? Why could he not be normal, like Hastur? She forced down suddenly rearing grief. He had been dead for more than three years. It still felt like yesterday. Athyrea forced the thoughts away and conjured what she hoped to be a seductive smile onto her lips. “I know something you will like better,” she said softly as she crawled towards him again. 

He gave her an askance look, but she pressed on and reached for his loin. She took him firmly in hand and tugged lightly as she licked her lips. “Something you will like much better,” she repeated, and pointedly looked down at his hardening gender. When she looked up, desire once more coloured his gaze. He seemed to have forgotten all about her bum. Good. As she leaned down and pressed her lips softly against his flesh, she realised something else and smiled. 3-3.

***

“You will need to wear this if you want to learn how to use a mech-bow,” Ezekyle said as he tied the bracer so that it would guard the inside of her left arm. He was standing behind her as he helped her. He wore one too. A Legion grade, collapsible compound bow leaned against a barrel of short arrows beside them.

“Why?” Ankeara asked as she watched him tie it.

“It will protect you from the drawstring if you pull badly,” he answered as he finished adjusting it. He picked up the compound bow and held it in front of her, showing her how to hold it. Standing behind her he put her in the correct stance, her feet inside his, her back flat against his chest and slightly angled, and her arm up and straight in line with her shoulders and alongside his. He put his hands across hers and showed her how to draw it, and let her gradually draw it on her own strength alone. Once she seemed to have the gist of it, he knocked an arrow. He helped her the first few times as the arrows flew everywhere. But she quickly improved – faster than he had expected.

“Very good,” he said when the first arrow hit the target, and not at all that far from the centre. His hands rested on her hips, her bum firmly against his loin. He quietly enjoyed the feel of the firm muscles there contracting as she pulled the drawstring. “Keep your elbow outward,” he reminded her.

Ankeara beamed at the compliment and shot several more arrows. Only one missed the target.

“Soon, you’ll shoot better than little Horus,” Ezekyle remarked, a wry grin around his lips.

Ankeara leaned her back against his chest and glanced up at him. “Captain Aximand?” she asked. He nodded. Amusement sparkled suddenly in her eyes. “ ‘Little’?” she inquired. “Is he not well equipped?” Though it had been a serious question, the way the First Captain’s face broke made her chortle.

“No, no. He’s simply shorter than --.” Too late he realised he had only made it worse. Ankeara laughed loudly. “He is shorter in stature,” Ezekyle said, frowning deeply.

“I understand,” Ankeara replied, though the amusement did not leave her eyes just yet. “Will I also shoot better than you?” she asked then.

“Perhaps,” he returned ruefully as he gave her thigh a squeeze. “One day.” He wasn’t nearly as proficient with these as he should be, but he was fairly confident he could beat her at this for the foreseeable future.

One of her eyebrows slowly arched up at his words in a fashion that was always an imminent ill omen on her gene-sire’s face. “Then I challenge you.”

He had thought she might say that. Duelling things out was something no World Eater spared an excuse to do. A grin played around his lips as an idea suddenly weaselled itself into the back of his mind. He let his hands slip from her hips down to take in the curves of her bum as he leaned his head down beside hers. “If I win,” he said, close to her ear, his tone lowered and his voice rumbling within his chest. “I am,” he continued as he firmly squeezed her bum, before tugging it apart and pressing his loins against her. “Going to fuck your ass.”

Her other eyebrow rose to join the first as she felt his hardening gender press against her. “And if I win?” she inquired to his surprise. He eyed her speculatively; he had not thought she would accept it just like that. However, there was no scorn in her blue eyes. It was a genuine question.

“If you win, I will kiss you,” Ezekyle returned then, and let a hand slip to the front of her fatigue pants and between her legs. “Here,” he added as he prodded her soft flesh. The surprised little noise his touch drew from her and the way she immediately leaned into it made him grin. “All week.”

A frown crinkled her brow and she nodded as if it were a most earnest oath of moment. “Done,” she said resolutely, though he thought he could see eagerness lurk in her eyes.

The next hour or so the only sounds that broke the silence in the gymnasium’s range were the ‘twang’ and ‘thud’ of arrows as they shot them in turn at the marked target. Ezekyle won, but only by a margin. A margin that had been far smaller than he had expected. She was a quick learner, and had a keen eye. She had learned swifter than the vast majority of his current scout cadre. He reminded himself she had the blood of a primarch, no matter how derailed that primarch might be.

“You did well,” he remarked as he pulled her into his arms.

“Not well enough,” she replied sullenly. “You won.”

He didn’t bother to comment on how close she had come to winning. There were only two out comes to challenges according to World Eaters – winning, and ‘not good enough’. Her fixation with it seemed nearly as bad as Angron’s,. However, raised on a world where ‘not good enough’ likely meant a gruesome death, Ezekyle wasn’t entirely surprised. A winning streak undoubtedly kept a gladiator in favour and, more importantly, alive.

“You did well,” he repeated, his conviction firmer this time. She glanced up and though the displeased scowl crinkling her features lessened a little it did not disappear. As he leaned down to kiss her, he wondered if she would ever take his word for it – or anyone’s, for that matter.

They kissed for a while before he spoke again.

“So, what about my reward,” he inquired softly. She could feel his warm breath brush past her ear. 

Ankeara nodded as her hands dropped from his chest to his waist and she tugged the tank top he wore out of his fatigue pants. “You won.”

His only reply was a low rumble, originating from somewhere deep within his chest. He kissed her again, stronger this time, and his hands roamed across her body. He caught her bum with both hands and squeezed the firm flesh. She closed her arms around his neck and pressed her body against him as their kiss deepened, and quickly grew rougher, as if they were both wrestling for control of it.

He brought a hand around and slipped it behind the elastic band of her fatigue pants. He knew she wore a loincloth, something he thought was as attractive as it was convenient. His fingertips brushed past the soft leather and between her legs. He grunted into their kiss when he felt that the warm skin was already slightly moist. Her arms tightened like slender vices around his neck when he touched her, and the noises she made were muffled into their kiss as he slipped first one and then two fingers into her. He tightened his grip on her and pulled her close against him, trying to coax the little mewling cries out of her that told him he was doing it just right. When she began to push back against his hand it became difficult to control himself, even more so when he felt her clench around his fingers.

Ankeara whimpered when he removed his hand, the building pleasure in the pit of her stomach floundering. She was still not sure how he made it feel so good, but he did and she wanted more. Her nails dug into his skin and she tore at the sturdy cloth of his tank top as protesting noises escaped her.

Ezekyle let his hand slip further between her legs until he found her ass. The little squirm, somewhere between a pained little whimper and a moan, that escaped her when he pressed a slick finger against her entrance there send a sharp jolt of need straight to his loins. His finger slid far more easily into her than when he had tried with Athyrea, and Ankeara did not protest. Not really. She must have done it before. Had she done it with an Astartes? Khârn? Solax? Maybe. His musings soon dissolved, his attention fixed on the warm, tight feel of her ass. 

Carefully, but determined, he worked another finger inside of her. Her whimpers turned into little mewls as he moved his fingers, gritting his teeth as he loosened her. He wanted to take her that way. Now. The need to do it burned in his mind and loin. He also knew he would hurt her if he did not prepare himself in the same way he had his fingers. With a titanic effort he bridled his flaring need down. Soon, he promised himself. Soon.

He broke their kiss and nuzzled her as he removed his fingers. Her cheeks had flushed a little and her pale blue eyes had grown large, brimming with unveiled need. He nuzzled her again, she seemed to enjoy that, and he slipped his hands to her waist. When he turned her around, she sank onto her knees by herself and he followed her down onto the mat.

Ankeara leaned down onto her elbows. When he mounted her, his large hands firmly grasping her hips, memories surfaced in the back of her mind, vague and indistinct. She gasped and then moaned when he pressed into her in a single thrust. She had thought he had meant to feel her rear now, but he hadn’t. She spent little time wondering why. She whimpered, her hands pawing at the mat as he filled her and send pleasure ricocheting through her entire body. She didn’t quite understand why it felt good with him, but it did and she didn’t care why.

Ezekyle moaned along with her as he sheathed himself in her, his hips abruptly stopped by her firm bum. The smack of skin on skin was jarringly loud in the silent hall. He loved how she could take all of him and likely more. He grasped her bum and pulled it further apart, allowing him to press closer against her still. His gaze skipped past her ass. It looked so small and tight. He gritted his teeth. Soon.

He tore his gaze away and shifted his hands back to her hips, holding her firmly to him. Bruises peaked from under her pushed up tank top, a blue outline of knuckles across the side of her back, as if she had turned away when the blow came. He needn’t put his own fist next to it to see the marks were far larger. His jaws worked as anger tried to elbow its way through his coiling lust.

Ankeara moaned and spread her legs further, hollowing her back and tilting her hips even more towards him. So good. It felt so good. She could barely think of anything but what he made her feel. Somehow. She cried out when he pulled her towards him and bucked ever harder into her. 

Only now did he feel the vaguest hint of resistance, brushing against the tip of his length. He groaned. He had meant only to smoothen his gender within her, but now he could not stop himself. He bucked into her again and again, craving to feel that light push back at the end. He rammed his hips against her with a strength that would soon leave bruises. Yet all she did was moan and whimper for more, every cry sweet to his ears, urging him on.

When he felt her tremble beneath him and tighten around him, it became too much and he lost control. He pressed her down, laying all but atop of her, only their hips still up. His weight and strength behind the thrusts, he fucked her with everything he could muster. Their moans mingled, her little nails dug holes in the mat and his skin alike, and with several hard, deep strokes he drowned them both in pleasure. Her cries, her trembling frame against him and her insides clenching around him sent intense pleasure whipping through him like insanity as he spilled himself within her.

After a long moment, Ankeara relaxed in his grasp, his touch all that was holding her up. He tugged her up with him as he rose to his knees, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“I thought you wanted this elsewhere?” Ankeara asked. She glanced at him over her shoulder, her blue eyes clouded and her voice still a little breathless.

“I still do,” he replied as he leaned his chin on her shoulder. It was muscled and hard. He liked the feel of it.

“Then why didn’t you?” she asked, a frown creasing her brow.

He frowned too now. “So you won’t hurt when I do.” Her frown deepened slightly with surprise, as if his considerations for her in that department were a novelty to her. His own frown turned into a scowl at her surprise. It did not occur to him her past might play a role in this. “I wouldn’t hurt you,” he added gruffly, his arms around her tightening a fraction.

A smile broke through her frown then – not the broad, teeth showing ones habitual to Lucrece or even Athyrea – but a smile nonetheless. The corners of her thin lips curved up and that counted. He nuzzled her cheek and then kissed her, his hands slipping down to her unclad hips. She arched her back a little, tilting her bum towards him and against his equally nude loin. A little noise escaped her when she felt his gender slide along her. When she glanced down, she could just see the tip.

Ezekyle savoured the their embrace and the feel of her warm, moist gender against his own for a long moment. He then brought his hands around and squeezed her bum once more. Insofar he was familiar with asses, he thought hers was particularly fine; just the right combination of soft skin and hard muscle. She pressed back into his touch.

He leaned back and looked down between them. He liked what he saw – his hands all but enveloping her bum, his length disappearing between her muscular thighs. Her built was so different from Athyrea’s. He tugged her bum gently apart and revealed her rear entrance to his eyes once more. He shifted one hand and lightly ran his thumb across it. The way he could see her muscles clench and felt them flex under his fingertips stirred the need slumbering in the pit of his stomach.

It was quickly followed by confusion, and then anger. Now that his mind wasn’t fully choked by his desire he had noticed something beyond the alluring creases around her entrance; small, almost hair thin, light lines that disrupted the concentric creases and marred the skin there. True, he had not seen many peoples’ ass, and certainly not this up close, but those marks did not belong there. He knew scars and scar tissue when he saw them. He frowned disapprovingly. Someone had hurt her.

“Captain?” Ankeara inquired, her voice breaking through his thoughts. She glanced at him over her shoulder. He wished she’d call him by his name.

“Nothing,” he responded gruffly, and smothered the beginnings of a frown on her brow with a kiss. His anger curled up in his chest like a hound told off to its basket by its master. Someone had hurt her. Who else besides Angron hurt her? He did not think even the insane primarch would do this. He resolved to find out and --- and slaughter them. With his bare hands. That’s what he wanted to do. What he should do was find out and tell Angron. The result would be the same, of course. But she was his daughter, and likely the offender was one of his Legion. Despite wanting nothing better than to rip the offender’s spine out through their throat, he would not trump the already touchy primarch by presuming to do it for him.

Ankeara frowned into their kiss and when his gaze fixed on a point only he could see, she bit at his lower lip. Hard. That snapped his gaze back to the present all right. She had thought he had wanted this? None of her experiences with it had been anything but awful, but neither had it ever been the right way in either. Except with him. She was willing to give this a try too; she could tell he wanted it very much. Maybe he knew it would hurt her and felt bad? Could that be possible?

“I can deal with the pain,” she assured him. He frowned as if not sure what she was going on about. “You know, when you do it,” she added, briefly nodding downwards. “It’s OK, I can take the pain.”

“I won’t hurt you,” he stated with the force of an impromptu oath of moment. He leaned close again then and brought one arm up to embrace her briefly. “If it hurts, you will tell me.”

She nodded uncertainly.

They kissed again and he reached between them, guiding himself to her rear. A brief squeal was muffled between their lips as he entered her, but she gave no further signs of discomfort. He suspected she was keeping it in. He wanted her to be truthful, but the firm hold of her bum on him made it incredibly difficult to think. He edged slowly deeper, sucking in a breath and groan when she flexed around him.

He leaned against her and pushed her forward once more, leaning on his knuckles. He liked the way she fit underneath him like this, the way her back arched along his chest, their cheeks so close they all but touched. He put an arm around her waist, his hand flat against the panes of her stomach, feeling the muscles there work. It slid up her torso then, cupping one of her breasts. She didn’t wear a corset or anything like Athyrea did. He thought he preferred it this way. When she squirmed a little he reached down between her thighs and touched her lightly, holding still until her little mewls turned into tiny moans.

***

“No need to worry, Athyrea,” Horus replied with a smile. “You have many years yet to master tactical theory, and it is likely you will never truly need it.”

“I wish to know, Lord-Father,” Athyrea repeated. She was sick and tired of being delegated political tasks. She wished to see war, to learn how to best deploy the Legion, how to direct them to a victory. Even Lucrece had seen the war theatre. Lord Fulgrim had taken her planet-side with him on at least two separate occasions as far as she knew.

“And you shall, sweetheart,” Horus said kindly, but in a firm tone that told her very clearly the topic was to be dropped. “I will sh--,” he continued, but then suddenly stopped.

They had been walking down from the strategium, along the western gangway towards the quarterdeck and their private chambers. The gangway was suspended above the primary deck and the various utilitarian halls it comprised. Steep, circling stairwells lead down to the decks below at regular intervals. They were passing above their – her Lord-Father's, really – private gymnasium when Horus had halted. Athyrea had been about to ask what was wrong, when she saw what her Lord-Father was looking at.

At first she had thought they were training, the way they were grappling down there on the mat. Ankeara was all but flat on her stomach, Ezekyle practically lying on top of her as he pinned her down. Only their hips were still up, as if they had grappled and fallen over and were struggling to right themselves again now. Ankeara was easily one of the tallest and sturdiest of her cousins, the one from all of them that looked most like an Astartes. However, Ezekyle was one of the largest of Athyrea's many half-brothers and he dwarfed Ankeara on all sides, his broad frame shielding most of her from sight. Most of her, but not enough. Her pants were down. His too.

Athyrea could not believe her eyes. Not only had she been right, but they were at it right here, in her Lord-Father's – the Warmaster's – private gymnasium!

“Oh...” Horus coughed. And then, he tried to smile again. “I do not think this is on the regular training schedule,” he remarked, doing his very best to sound light and unconcerned.

Athyrea barely heard him. They were---, no, she could not call this love-making, could not even begin to compare it to what she and Hastur had had. To do so felt like an insult to the gentle captain's memory. Warp take them, even 'fucking' did not sound crude enough to aptly describe it. She had seen hounds rut with more grace than this.

Consternation replaced Athyrea's outrage then. Was he... was he in her behind? Did he truly desire such things then? Ankeara seemed to enjoy it. Of course she did. Undoubtedly such things were perfectly normal for her. She was a World Eater, and they were all savages. They were hardly people. They were more a kin to beasts with no care or thought beyond satisfying their base needs – violence, lust, it was all the same to them. Athyrea shuddered in both disgust and bridled fury. If he wanted to do these disgusting things with Ankeara, she was most welcome to them. She, herself, would never let him degrade her so. 

Athyrea glared at them. This was all Ankeara's fault! She had corrupted Ezekyle, made him want her barbaric ways. A whole new loathing for her elder cousin filled Athyrea. Belatedly, she remembered her Lord-Father was there. With a show of the iron discipline in which she took after her mother she wrestled her face into a plain expression of shock, with mild disgust, but nothing more than that.

Horus was surprised, and shocked, of course. He had not expected Abaddon to--- well, he did not expect to find any of his sons so... engrossed with the opposite gender, but his choleric captain least of all. He wondered then if he were simply imagining it. But no, they were really there, his daughter's gasp and consternated expression told him so. Athyrea! He resisted the sudden and overwhelming urge to mimic his brother Roboute's habit and clap a hand over her eyes. He had been so careful! He did not want her to get any wrong impressions now. At least it was obvious that his niece and captain both enjoyed it, that was something.

He had feared that, in the wake of dear Sejanus his sudden and meaningless death, Athyrea would seek solace with Abaddon, who had seemed to grieve most of his sons. He knew the old Terran proverb of broken hearts mending together. He was relieved Abaddon had sought soothing elsewhere, though the realisation that his daughter had dealt with their beloved captain's death all on her own pained him. He had hoped she would come to him, eventually, but she never had. And thus he had feared she'd carried her broken feelings elsewhere. Clearly, it had not been to Abaddon and by the looks of it, his judgement had been correct. He was an outstanding and loyal captain, and a decent enough man, but he would not have been right for Athyrea. Ankeara, fathered by his bellicose brother and keeping pace with her volatile half-brothers, was clearly better suited to abrade the rough edges off of his favoured captain in this department.

He wondered then, as he looked at Athyrea's grimacing profile, if she had spilled her heart elsewhere or kept it locked inside. Though he dreaded the first for the mistakes she might make, the idea of the second pained him worse, especially as it would mean she wished not to speak of it with him either. He was her father, if she did not turn to him, then who could she turn to? Again he was relieved by the notion it had not been Abaddon. Loken seemed likely, he was so much like Sejanus it all but hurt to look upon him. If it had been Aximand, well, that would explain her darkened moods of late. He hoped it was Loken.

Athyrea was clearly rattled, and a little disgusted too, when she briefly glanced at him. He felt he should say something. Uncalled for as this was, it wasn't strange, or wrong, in and of itself. He did not want her to be influenced by this, but it was too late for that now. He'd have had to shield her eyes minutes ago. What could he say to keep it from influencing her wrongly? He did not want her to think that this was how it was, but he did not want her to look down on her cousin and Abaddon either for the way in which they evidently preferred it. What could he possibly say that wouldn't make him sound like a fool? Nothing, probably.

“There is no need to be alarmed,” Horus said after a long moment. “Some people... prefer it this way.” He tried to smile again, open and kind and hoping his words would reach through to her. She seemed transfixed upon the scene below them. Athyrea looked up at him. She was scowling a little, but it disappeared the moment she turned. He frowned. “Different people like different things,” he added.

Inwardly, Athyrea sighed and rolled her eyes. She knew perfectly well this was not the way in which it should be done. Why didn't he just say that? She wasn't 5 years old anymore. Outwardly, she pulled the most child-like expression onto her face she had made in years. “Did you and mom ever do that?” she inquired, her voice inflected with a note of girlish innocence more suited to Lucrece. The way his eyebrows rose simultaneously in consternation at her question almost made her laugh.

“No, of course not,” Horus replied without missing a beat. Athyrea held his gaze, and the weighing look that appeared on her features reminded him forcefully of his wife. He pulled his smile slightly wider and gently squeezed her shoulder. “Come,” he added, and tugged her along with him as he continued their walk down the gangway. “Decent folks do not watch others couple.”

Athyrea tried her very best to neither retort nor glare at him. Decent folks told their lessers to get off their couch and find a room. She was upset with her father for not flying off into a rage and separating them, preferably forcefully and permanently. And she was angry with Ezekyle for exchanging her for that, that, that filthy alley cat. Who knew what things she had done? What things had done her! And Ezekyle had touched her. With more than just his masculine parts, quite likely. She suppressed a shudder at the thought. She was furious with her cousin for causing all this. It was all her fault. If she had not been here, if she and her insane sire had not been here, the universe would have been a better place! Right now, Athyrea felt death couldn't come and claim them soon enough.

Horus glanced sideways at Athyrea as they walked onward. He had his hand on her back now, pushing her gently so that she would not stop and turn to look back. Her thoughts were churning, he could tell from the way she scowled at the floor. He hoped this would not leave any permanent marks on her. She might act as big and adult as she wanted, she was still his little girl.

He made a note of – carefully – broaching this ordeal to Angron. He was well aware of how vehemently his brother protected his daughter from anything and everything masculine, indiscriminate of whether they were ill-willed or benign. However, if Angron was ever going to approve of anyone, surely he'd approve of Abaddon. His volatile temper aside he was an outstanding captain with a war record that even Angron would have to look favourably upon. 

He would keep an eye on them, of course. Ankeara appeared neither fragile nor soft, and he feared what innocence she had ever had, had been stolen from her long before they had been found, but he would not have his captain make matters worse through thickheadedness. Although he was fairly sure their current escapade had been consensual; he had seen them fight and he was not completely sure it would not devolve into... less oncsenusal acts. Despite everything, he thought the two of them well matched. It was good for her to have someone outside her Legion, somewhere she could go if she wanted to be away for a little while. And if any of his sons were capable of habitually dealing with his difficult brother, it was Abaddon. Horus was certain Abaddon would be able to keep her safe, if need be even from her sire.

However, he resolved to have a word with Abaddon about appropriate locations.

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: A lot of time and hard work went into the creation and publication of this story and as such it is very dear to me. I would love to hear what you thought of it. And please, share this story freely but credit me and link back to me. Thank you!


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